Malbidion and the Rise of the Mordanas'Archim
by Melarith
Summary: The insidious scheming and general unpleasant humdrum day-to-day of the dreadlord Malbidion. Chronicles his nefarious exploits in Azeroth and how his own cult came into existance.


The chill of death pervaded in the cold stone halls. To the untrained it seemed nothing more than an unnaturally cold wind sweeping across the skin, sending shivers down the spine. But those that knew the dark secrets of this place knew better, it was the voice of death itself, its words entwining itself around the still-living, whispering an unholy lullaby in their ears. It is said that some hear death's call more clearly than others, and they are destined to become the greatest of warlocks and necromancers. And the lords of all warlocks and shadowcasters were the Nathrezim – the unholy dreadlords.

Flickering braziers of deathly green flame raged, illuminating the auditorium in its unholy green glow. Shadows of emerald hue danced on the tapestries hung high upon the impenetrable stone walls. The chaotic weather of hellfire and flame that plagued the world of Xoroth formed the background of the imposing citadel. It was here that stood the mythical bastion of the dreadlords, their chaos citadel an unyielding spire of hellforged stone that stood resilient against the fury of the storms of Xoroth.

"…And why do we not just capture the Queen herself?" The resounding enunciation of each syllable, the demonic undertones… it was the unmistakable voice of the dreadlord Ven'gyr.

"Lord Kil'jaeden instructed us that we are not to raise suspicion. Their beloved Queen disappearing would ruin the Lord's plans." The seething annoyance in Detheroc's rattling voice was clear. No mortal had ever heard those bone-chilling tones and survived… sane. "Now are you done questioning your brethren, Ven'gyr?"

"Enough! Both of you!" The dreadlord Tichondrius's smooth, sinister voice belied his sheer cruelty and malevolence. His neck craned dangerously, peering at the gathering of Natherezim. It pained him every time the council was convened, their pettiness to garner the favor of the Lord Kil'jaeden was despicable. "So we are all in agreement then… Malbidion is to be given the honor of serving the Lord Kil'jaeden in his mission." Tichondrius's piercing gaze scanned the room, Varimthras's tensed wings shaking, visibly agitated. "Mal'ganis? Balnazzar?" His tone indicated that he expected agreement, not discussion.

Reluctant nods from the dreadlords indicated their agreement, and Varimthras' hasty exit from the morose chamber spoke of his rage. Ven'gyr's and Mephistroth's exits were more dignified – a Nathrezim never admitted defeat, they only found opportunities to prey on weaknesses and exert their manipulation. Tichondrius knew that Malbidion would have a handful – serving both Master Kil'jaeden, and fending off the machinations devised by his supposed brethren. Tichondrius shook his head, clearing his mind of such thoughts. This was the way of the Nathrezim, only the strong survived their ranks.

Malbidion flexed his massive wingspan behind him one last time, the intricate wings formed of leather and sinew folding behind him. The dreadlord's massive stature stood alone in the vaunted hall of the summoning chamber. A high, gothic roof stood overhead, weathering Xoroth's storms, massive buttresses of jagged stone holding the citadel together. The blackened demonic runes on the ground began glimmering a dull, throbbing red, as some mortal sought to contact him. It was about time. Malbidion's massive clawed hands began weaving the dark spell necessary to rip asunder the fabric of time and space, the shrill screech of a hole being ripped in the continuum as his claws tore apart a portal. The opening grew larger and larger as his hands forced it asunder, the exit was becoming visible now… The crimson hell-forged stone of the dreadlord's chaos citadel gave way to the soothing blue tones of colored marble and quartz, gently curving sculptures and lush fabric. The dreadlord stepped through, ready to serve the Lord Kil'jaeden…


End file.
